


Which is about the perils of writing what you know

by clefairytea



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Clefairy's Holiday Fic Request Fest, Gen, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21823150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clefairytea/pseuds/clefairytea
Summary: Now, Snorkmaiden left Moominvalley on a cycle. She would travel spring and summer, returning in autumn to settle into the valley and write whatever it was she had been thinking about. Of course, there were years where she travelled for longer – like that long stint in Paris working on her play – and there were years where the writing took longer. Or, unfortunately, years where the travel money simply dried up.But by and large, she had fallen into a pattern. Sailing and taking trains around the world throughout the warm months, roaming and wandering and meeting fascinating people (and being proposed to a frankly irritating amount). And then, when the leaves turned crisp and golden, she would settle back into her lovely atelier in Moominvalley, a cup of tea hot in her paw and a fresh blank page curled into her type-writer. What could be more splendid?It was a good routine, and she was happy with it.And she was very happy – incredibly happy – with her newest piece of work.--Snorkmaiden accidentally takes inspiration for her newest novel from a bit too close to home.
Relationships: Implied Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Comments: 17
Kudos: 184





	Which is about the perils of writing what you know

**Author's Note:**

> Another holiday fic request for @oxymorus on Tumblr!
> 
> This is very silly. No particular warnings for anything.

There were three decisions in Snorkmaiden’s life she was most pleased with herself with.

The first was her decision to break up with Moomintroll.

Oh, she knew that made her sound terrible and heartless. She had _felt_ terrible and heartless doing it, even knowing it was a bandage that needed to be torn off. Yet the improvement to both of their lives had been instant and undeniable. The strangest thing was that as soon as they they stopped spending so much time making each other cry, they actually got along quite well.

Moreover, unburdened with the effort of maintaining a boyfriend (and chasing after boys to make said boyfriend jealous), she had time to have _friends_. She spent time with Snufkin and Little My and Pappa and even Mymble (Jr and Sr). To her greater surprise, not only was she having fun, she discovered that _she_ was fun! And all without coercing boys into telling her she’s pretty! She had barely even understood it was possible!

The second was to start writing seriously.

It rather came hand-in-hand with the above. Breaking up with Moomintroll (as well as swearing off the male gender entirely for a while), left her with a great deal of time on her hands. Out of nowhere, and with uncharacteristic conscientiousness, Pappa offered her an old type-writer. She started just fiddling around with silly stories, but it was as though she’d been keeping stories locked away in her chest her entire life, and now they were eager to emerge. As her typing skills grew faster, she filled page after page. Twaddle, at first, obviously, but with every sentence it became twaddle less and less. Eventually, it was so little twaddle she packaged it up in an envelope and send it to clever types who could tell her whether it was twaddle or not.

It would be a long time before someone declared that it wasn’t twaddle. In fact, only after she made her third decision.

Leave Moominvalley.

Not permanently! But taking it upon herself to travel, alone, unencumbered by her brother or her family or any of the trappings of her usual life, opened up something inside her. She only understood how small her world had become once she stepped outside of it, breathing in the salt of the sea, the thin air of the mountains, the blanketing heat of jungles. The story she had been writing, which had been so lifeless and repetitive, suddenly bloomed with colour, and everything came alive.

When she returned to Moominvalley the next autumn, she wrote a book. By the time Snufkin’s spring tune filled the valley, she had a publisher.

Now, she left Moominvalley on a cycle. She would travel spring and summer, returning in autumn to settle into the valley and write whatever it was she had been thinking about. Of course, there were years where she travelled for longer – like that long stint in Paris working on her play – and there were years where the writing took longer. Or, unfortunately, years where the travel money simply dried up.

But by and large, she had fallen into a pattern. Sailing and taking trains around the world throughout the warm months, roaming and wandering and meeting fascinating people (and being proposed to a frankly irritating amount). And then, when the leaves turned crisp and golden, she would settle back into her lovely atelier in Moominvalley, a cup of tea hot in her paw and a fresh blank page curled into her type-writer. What could be more splendid?

It was a good routine, and she was happy with it.

And she was very happy – _incredibly_ happy – with her newest piece of work.

“My agent wasn’t sure,” she told Moomintroll, pouring him a cup of tea, “she thought it may be a bit controversial – a story like that about two men - but after she read it she _loved_ it. She’s certain we’ll find a publisher. It’s just a matter of someone being brave enough to take it on.”

“Hm,” said Moomintroll, nibbling on the end of a piece of shortbread.

She raised an eyebrow and sat down on the chair opposite him (her deskchair – her atelier was lovely, but it didn’t have a lot of room, especially after accounting for her books, clothes and make-up).

“Alright, out with it,” she said. It wouldn’t be the first time Moomintroll had critique for her work. He was often surprisingly helpful, so she’d rather hear it than not. And she was a lady who _mostly_ only liked gents. It would be useful to get the feedback of a gent who liked other gents. She wouldn’t want to be insensitive.

Besides, it was so annoying dealing with him just hovering about _wanting_ to say something.

“Out with what?” he asked through a mouthful of shortbread.

“You clearly have something to say. Did you not like it?”

“No, no, I liked it!” he said. “It’s just. Well…I didn’t much like one of the main characters.”

“Who? The thief?” she asked. She was conscious that he may well be controversial. After all, he could be a bit on the mean side. Yet women tended to very much _go_ for that kind of character. And they were her biggest audience, after all.

To her surprise, Moomintroll shook his head.

“No, I quite liked him,” he said, and then scowled. “It was the mountain troll fellow who grated on my nerves.”

“The _prince_?” Snorkmaiden said, surprised. She was quite fond of him. She rather thought everyone else would be! After all, he was very sweet. A bit dim, yes, but very sweet.

“Well he hasn’t any sense!” Moomintroll burst out, surprisingly incensed about the whole thing.

“Moomintroll, he’s barely ever left the palace! It only makes sense he’d be naïve,” she said, trying not to get defensive on behalf of her fictitious son. Moomintroll snapped down the rest of his shortbread.

“It’s fine to say he’s naïve, but honestly. The thief is breaking into the palace every other night to see him and he thinks this is all platonic?” he said, rolling his eyes. “Nobody’s that stupid, surely.”

Well. She supposed that was a point. She didn’t really want his naivete to frustrate readers too much.

“Alright, I’ll make him a bit brighter,” she said, wondering how she could go about doing that.

“It really is a good piece of work, aside from that!” he said hastily. “Do you think you’ll be finished it soon?”

“Not quite as soon as when I didn’t have to rework one of the characters,” she said, smirking at him.

“You didn’t need to ask for my notes,” he replied, helping himself to another bit of shortbread.

“Well, too late! I’m going to ask for more and more now!” she replied, snatching the shortbread from his paws, bopping him on the end of the snout with it. “That’s your punishment for trying to be clever.”

“I’ll not make that mistake again,” he muttered, wiping crumbs from his nose.

“Oh I wouldn’t worry about that. You rarely do.”

“Right,” he said. “Wait, what?”

****

She had just made a few copies of her fresh, full draft when there was a rap at her window, followed by a _splat_. She turned to find Snufkin standing there, looking politely through at her. From his shoulder, Little My was leaning forward and pressing her face grotesquely into the window. Snufkin seemed to be holding something.

“Alright, alright, no need to make a mess of my window,” she said, hopping out of her desk to open the window. Little My leapt back, settling onto the brim of Snufkin’s hat.

“Morning Snorkmaiden. Not interrupting anything, are we?” Snufkin said. “Just wondering if you’d enjoy a snack.”

She glanced down to see he was holding his coat up to create a make-shift sack, carrying a great deal of mottled red apples in it.

“We’ve been apple picking,” Little My said, “in an orchard that _doesn’t_ belong to us.”

“Well, apple trees don’t belong to anyone,” Snufkin said airily, “and Mamma mentioned wanting to make crumble this evening.”

“Ooh!” Snorkmaiden said. “Don’t spare any apples for me then! Mamma can make best use of them.”

“Fair enough,” he said, nodding. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Cheerio –“

“Hold on, you!” she said, catching his sleeve. “I wanted to ask - would you read what I’m working on right now?”

Snufkin had very good taste and didn’t mince words. It made him rather useful for feedback, even if sometimes she needed to sneak off and have a good cry afterwards.

“Oh, well I’m flattered as always,” he said, “but it isn’t one of your frisky books, is it?”

“No, it’s – err…well there is chapter eleven,” she admitted. Snufkin and Little My gave her a sceptical look. She tucked a lock of hair behind her har. “Oh, fine. And sixteen. Possibly nineteen, I haven’t decided yet.”

“Ah,” Snufkin said, “then I’ll pass. A little rude for me, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll read it!” Little My said, jumping from Snufkin’s hat to the windowsill. “Nothing better than a dirty book now and then.”

“It is _not_ a dirty book!” Snorkmaiden protested, raising her snout. “It’s a _literary romance_.”

“A dirty book with bigger words than normal then. Even better!” she said, hopping across to the desk and helping herself to a copy of the manuscript, getting her feet on just about every little thing in the process. Snorkmaiden grunted and huffed but could do little to stop Little My as she leapt back out of the window and dashed off, carrying the manuscript over her head.

“She’ll never change, will she?” Snorkmaiden said, sighing.

“I hope not,” Snufkin said. “It is rather nice for one thing to be constant.”

****

It was a rainy day answering fanmail when Little My reappeared at the atelier. She kicked the door open with a boom, sending a wind through that scooped up Snorkmaiden’s papers and scattered them.

“Didn’t know you were in the business of writing biographies,” she said.

Snorkmaiden, busy grabbing letters, only turned to look at her over her shoulder.

“What?” she asked.

“I said. I didn’t know you wrote biographies,” she said, and trotted up to her, hopping onto the desk. “Or does this count as creative non-fiction?”

“Why are you always so obtuse?” Snorkmaiden snapped, tucking all the collected letters under a plate. “I mean really, what are you talking about?

“I’m talking about how you’ve immortalised our dear, dear friends on the page,” Little My said, looking about the desk. “Got anything to eat?”

“There’s fudge in the drawer, help yourself,” Snorkmaiden said briskly. “Now what is this about?”

“Wow,” Little My said, popping a pawful of fudge into her mouth. “You seriously haven’t realised. I thought you were _clever_.”

It was not the time to preen about Little My calling her clever. Or at least, not visibly. Instead, she folded her arms and glowered at her.

“So…your thief and prince,” Little My said innocently. “You take inspiration for them from anything?”

Snorkmaiden paused, giving it some thought. Normally her characters did come from people she met travelling, or a combination of them. Yet her thief and prince came to her quite naturally, as though she’d known them her entire life. She hadn’t really stopped to think about it.

“Oh. Well. Nothing in particular really,” she said, quite honestly. Little My’s grin only grew.

“Really, because I think they’re both _very_ like two idiots we know and love,” she said, licking the fudge from her teeth and paws.

Snorkmaiden stared at her blankly.

“What by my every-lasting tail are you talking about?” she said. “I don’t know any smart-mouthed travelling thieves, nor do I know any sheltered princes who live in…towers…”

She trailed off, looking out the window at the familiar tower of Moominhouse up the hill.

“Oh, by the Groke’s teeth,” she said, slapping her paws over her mouth. Little My howled with laughed, kicking her little feet on the desk.

“Finally worked it out, have you!” she cried.

“Oh, no no no, _ew_! That’s – that’s – I didn’t do it on _purpose_!” Snorkmaiden shouted, going red from the tips of her ears to the very end of her tail. Little My fell onto her back, snorting and clutching her stomach.

“Not even on purpose! Even better!” she said. “How did you manage that?”

“Oh, I don’t know!” Snorkmaiden said miserably, resting her snout on her desk and putting her paws over her ears. “I suppose they’re the only so-inclined chaps I know that well. It couldn’t help but leak in.”

“I can’t _wait_ for them to read it,” Little My said.

“Moomintroll already has,” Snorkmaiden admitted, covering her eyes with her arms. “He didn’t like the mountain troll at all.”

Little My squawked with laughter again, almost choking on a piece of fudge.

“It’s not _funny_!” Snorkmaiden said. “What am I going to do? My agent’s already sending the manuscript to publishers!”

Before Little My replied, however, the phone on Snorkmaiden’s wall began to ring. They looked at one another, and then at the phone. After a moment of silence, Snorkmaiden picked up the receiver.

“Hello?” she said, gesturing at Little My to be quiet. She was, surprisingly, but only because she wanted to eavesdrop.

“Morksnaiden! Darling!” squeaked her agent.

Snorkmaiden’s agent was a lovely and very efficient little thingum woman. She wore a red peacoat and, no matter what she’d actually being doing that day, constantly gave the impression of having just returned from a day out pheasant shooting.

Snorkmaiden adored her.

Normally any phonecall from her was cause for celebration, or at the very least heralded a nice chat. Yet for the first time, the sound of her little voice made Snorkmaiden’s heart sink.

“Hello, I’m well,” she said quickly, “but listen –“

“Read the drewest naft, we all love it! Adore it! Gan’t ket enough!” her agent continued, and normally Snorkmaiden loved her endless energy, but it just made her feel woozy now.

“No, no, I’ve actually been thinking – it’s terribly _unpolished_ , isn’t it?” Snorkmaiden said desperately. “I think I’d rather like to redraft it. Start again!”

Her agent squealed with laughter.

“Morksnaiden! You are a _diot, rarling_!” she said, chuckling. “Unpolished! Neally row! I dare say Söldts and Schiderström see otherwise!”

For a second Snorkmaiden’s throat was much too dry to reply.

“They liked it?” she said. “No, no, but – but I –“

“Made an offer, right away!” she continued, blustering past Snorkmaiden’s weak arguments in the way she usually did with obstinate editors. “My secretary is caking you a mopy of the contract right now!”

“A contract?” Snorkmaiden said, not quite able to push back the excitement bubbling up in her ribs at that. “Already?”

“Of course! Now, you’ll have to steck it chudiously, but, the advance is nery vice!” she said.

And then she said a number that made Snorkmaiden’s legs stop working. She fell back into her seat, grip growing slack on the telephone.

“What?” Little My demanded. “Who is it? What are they saying? Tell me this instant!”

Snorkmaiden waved at her to be silent, unable to speak.

Goodness! She knew it was _good_ but she had no idea it would go down so well!

Being someone who grew up in Moominvalley, she didn’t value money a great deal. She had no desire for a big mansion these days – she’d stayed in a few on her travels (having besotted more than one gentleman rich enough to own one), and they were so large they felt perpetually lonely. Likewise, cocktail parties and champagne were all well and good, but they really didn’t hold a candle to Mamma’s little garden parties and Pappa’s homebrew beer.

No, it wasn’t the money she cared about. The problem was, with that amount…

Why, she could spend the next year travelling, without ever having to worry! She could get herself a new boat better suited to long travels, stay in hotels whenever she wanted to, buy herself a real string of her pearls! She could even finally get Pappa that typewriter he’d been coveting for so long.

“Spunned steechless, hm?” her agent said, chuckling. “Well, just think about it and –“

“Yes,” Snorkmaiden interrupted.

“Hm?”

“Yes!” Snorkmaiden said. “Ooh, tell them I’m very interested and will have the contract back to them, as soon as possible!”

“Wonderful! We’ll have to have some champagne, next I’m in Voomin Malley,” her agent said cheerfully. “Contract’s in the post, darling! Oodle-too!”

She hung up. Snorkmaiden slowly placed the receiver back onto its cradle.

“What did you just agree to?” Little My asked, mouth a flat line.

“I sold it,” she said, leaning back in her chair.

“What? Already?”

“I _sold_ it!” she squealed, scooping Little My up and spinning her around.

“Augh! Put me down!” she bellowed, but Snorkmaiden was too busy squealing and giggling with delight to care. She dropped her (“Oof! Not like that!”) and put her paws to her mouth.

“Oh dear I _sold_ it,” she said, and then looked down at Little My. “They’d both get quite angry, wouldn’t they? Even with it being unintentional.”

“I’ll say,” Little My said, getting to her feet and readjusting her ponytail. “You know how Snufkin feels about his privacy. And that daft marshmallow will work himself into dramatics about it.”

Snorkmaiden began pacing the limited floor space of the atelier.

“I’ll do plenty to edit it so it’s less…” she said, with an embarrassed gesture. Little My shook her head.

“Snufkin would figure it out anyway.”

“Well, Snufkin will never read it,” she assured herself. “He thinks it’s too rude.”

“Are you sure about that?” Little My replied, hopping up to sit on Snorkmaiden’s shoulder, kicking her feet. “You never know. He might change his mind.”

“He changes his mind about nothing and you know it,” she replied, “but Moomintroll…”

Snorkmaiden came to a decision.

“Right! Y’know what? I’m going to nip this one right in the bud! Right now!” she said, rushing out the door.

****

“Moomintroll!” Snorkmaiden shouted, bursting through the door to Moominhouse. Moomintroll stabbed himself with his sewing needle.

“Ow! Snorkmaiden!” he whined, lifting up the quilt he was working on. “I’ve got blood on my new quilt now!”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry and all that,” Snorkmaiden said, too used to Moomintroll’s whining to take it seriously. “Moomintroll, I need to talk to you about my book.”

Little My scampered up behind her, expression curious. Moomintroll looked at her, brow furrowed.

“I told you, I think the prince character is fine now!” he said, bundling up the quilt and added in a mutter. “He’s just never going to be my favourite, that’s all.”

Little My snorted into her paws.

“No, that’s not it,” Snorkmaiden said, sitting on the seat opposite him and resting her elbows on her knees. “I’m going to need you to be really honest with me here. Do the main characters…remind you of anyone?”

Moomintroll paused and then sighed, putting his sewing in the basket by the chair.

“I was wondering if I was just imagining it, honestly.”

“Oh,” Snorkmaiden said, just barely holding back saying something ruder.

“Snufkin really won’t like it.”

“I imagine he won’t,” Snorkmaiden said, closing her eyes. It was fair, but she could still mourn her pearls and her boat and her year of worry-free travel.

“I know you tried to hide it by changing the genders –“

“Huh?” she said, opening her eyes.

“But it’s _really_ obvious you based them off the Joxter and the Mymble,” he said, and then laughed. “I mean, the Mymble’s the only one I know as daft as this prince character.”

For the second time that day, Snorkmaiden was speechless. Moomintroll chuckled to himself.

“You reeeally thought you pulled the wool over my eyes, didn’t you?” he said, wiggling a finger at her and looking terribly pleased with his own cleverness.

In that instant, Snorkmaiden decided that some sleeping dogs were best left to lie.

“Oooh, you got me,” she said, putting a hand to her chest. “I can’t get anything past you, you clever troll, you. Promise you won’t tell Snufkin? I know it would make him uncomfortable.”

“Cross my heart,” he said, looking terribly pleased with himself. “It’d be a shame for you to put in a drawer – it is a good book, you know. He might not mind so much, if he ever read it.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Snorkmaiden said. Mamma’s snout appeared in the doorway.

“Moomintroll?” she said, leaning into the room. “I just got off the phone with the police inspector. She needs you to come over and pick Snufkin up.”

“Again?” he said, getting out of his seat. “Honestly! If I didn’t know better I’d think he gets caught just to make me come pick him up. Stealing turnips again, I imagine.”

“Carrots, as it happens,” Mamma said. Moomintroll shook his head, doing a shoddy job of pretending he wasn’t delighted.

“Right, well I better go!” he said, and then looked at Snorkmaiden and laughed to himself again. “Honestly…thinking I wouldn’t figure that out…”

The door slammed shut behind him.

“You’re going to have to tell him some time or another,” Little My said, looking up at Snorkmaiden.

“I will,” she said. “Everyone needs something fun to say on their deathbed, don’t they?”

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of Snufkin being like ':/ I'm not reading that it's too rude' as a 36-year-old man is hysterical to me. Listen he had to be his own mother growing up and he never really stopped.
> 
> A scene I deleted because it didn't sit comfortably anywhere was Pappa being like "Ah, Snorkmaiden I just got your manuscript! About to start reading it with a nice hot cup of tea :)" and she just snatches it out of his paws and hurls it out of the window. He's just like "...:( You could have just said it wasn't ready".


End file.
